Not Michelangelo's David
by Roofran411
Summary: It is Kate and Petruchio's Wedding anniversary. Tim suggests Kate visits the Tate Britain Art Gallery. The result of her visit proves to be startling for all of the Crick family


NOT MICHELANGELO'S DAVID

Another little story of the family Crick.

I did not create Petruchio or Kate, Shakespeare did. My thanks to Sally Wainwright for bringing them into the twenty first century; My thanks too Rufus Sewell and Shirley Henderson for bringing them to glorious life. I just picked them up and ran with them.

Or perhaps it was Kate and Piers who ran with me.

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NOT MICHELANGELO'S DAVID

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Dad yelled upstairs that lunch was ready.

I could hear Mum's steps on the stairs, coming from her office downstairs.

I leaped downstairs two at a time to be in the dining room before her. Two things Dad was strict about even now, one was good manners, the other was that when we all ate together either at Hazlington or as we were today at Downing Street, we should all be in the dining room before Mum so that she would never have to wait for any of us. We were all at Downing Street today because it was Mum and Dad's Silver Wedding Anniversary.

Twenty-five years!

Most people were surprised that they had lasted this long. Gramma, Granpa Harry and Aunt Bianca were the most vocal about it. But we, my siblings and me, knew! No matter how much they fought, neither of them could live without the other.

Pete and Lexi had come down from Oxford, Pete is doing his Master's in . and Lexi is in her undergraduate year in politics and economics. Mike had got himself excused for two days from his first RSC tour and I had come up from my job at Hazlington to spend the day with them.

Mum swept in like a miniature tornado as usual.

"What's for lunch today?"

"Spag. carbonara and tiramisu, my love." Dad replied.

"Ooh! Yummy."

We sat around the oval table the way we always sat whenever we were together.

Dad at one end, then Pete with Lexi on one side, Mum at the far end, then Mike next to her and me next to Dad.

Dad leaned back and pushed the button and the 'dumb waiter' began its swift ascent from the kitchens in the basement.

When we were having coffee, Mum said, "Tim rang me this morning."

"Hmm?" Dad was not particularly surprised; after all, as her Chancellor of the Exchequer, Uncle Tim spoke to Mum several times every day.

"Yes, he has been to the Preview at the Tate Britain. The Slade graduate exhibition? He said that it was exceptional this year, especially the Turner prize winner. He thought we might be interested in one in particular. So I went along."

"This morning? "

That caught Dad's attention. Mum had been recently re-elected PM, after a term out of office. She would never to take time off to visit unofficially a Students exhibition, no matter how good it was.

He studied her.

"I brought back a programme. I thought you might be interested. Lexi lovey, pass my handbag."

She fished the programme out.

"Pass it to your father." she said to Pete.

Dad's eyebrows shot up as he examined it..

"Very interesting!" He flipped it onto the table.

Pete grabbed it; he gave a strangled snigger. "Well, it's not me!"

He handed it to Mike. "Nor me."

He passed it to me.

On the front of the programme was a print of the award winning painting.

A mixture of Renaissance style and up to the minute modern techniques, it was stunningly beautiful.

A dark green, almost black background hinted at a curtain, or a tent, or perhaps a cave. In one dim corner, a sword gleamed malevolently, its blade blood red. The central figure glowed, almost seeming to float with light. A young man lay stretched out on a low, darkest red couch, long and slender, his drowsy eyes glinted green and his head a mass of black curls. One arm rested over the back of the couch, a sling trailing from the other onto a handful of pebbles on the floor beneath. A dark green cloak was thrown over the couch and was twisted around one ankle. Apart from that, the youth was totally naked, painted in exquisitely fine and explicit detail.

The title underneath.

 _David: After Goliath_

The model for David was either a close relative or one of us.

" Rupert! Is this you?" Dad's voice was soft and silky.

Ominous!

Oh! Don't get him wrong. He's no prude. He wouldn't care if we ran starkers around Trafalgar Square. His concern would be for Mum and the hassle she would get from the media. And the creator of said hassle would catch it from him.

I tossed the programme back onto the table and Lexi promptly pounced on it.

I looked straight at my father and I answered him truthfully.

"No Dad, I did not pose for that. I have never seen it before."

He looked levelly back at each of us in turn, opening his mouth to continue the discussion. Mum interrupted.

"There's no need for all this, Piers. Nobody posed. Whats'er name, the girl, told me she did it from memory."

" _A girl?_ " Dad was astonished.

More sniggers from my brothers.

"Girls do paint, Dad!"

"Kate, the fact remains" Dad said jabbing his finger at her. " that... what _is_ her name, that girl? She had to have seen whoever it was in all his glory to be able to paint him from memory."

"Oh! You'd rather it was a some guy, would you Dad?"

"Oh! Don't be so pompous, my love! It's rather beautiful."

He snorted.

" Wait till the press get hold of this." he muttered.

"They already have, they were waiting outside Tate Britain. Um... Apparently, there's a companion piece, yet to be shown. _Bathsheba and the King._ "

"Didn't he watch her bathing on the roof?"

" _Another_ nude?"

My brothers were enjoying this.

Lexi looked up from her slightly open-mouthed studying of the print.

" Gawd 'elp us! His thingy! Is everybody's winky that size or is it just artistic whatjacallit?"

" Lexi!" Dad snapped warningly, but Mum only said, "The money we've expended on your education Lexi, I would have expected you to have a better vocabulary."

" I only asked."

Sniggers again from the brothers.

Lexi began to sing softly.

 _" My ding-a-ling, My ding-a-ling,_

 _Who wants to play with my ding-a-ling?"_

"Thank you, Lexi! That will be enough vulgarity from you."

Mum stood.

" Back to work. Has Bianca rung about this evening? "

Aunt Bianca was throwing a family party for Mum and Dad at Annabel's tonight .

Dinner and dancing! In a Club! Not Mum and Dad's scene, nor mine but my brothers and Lexi loved the idea.

"Table's reserved for eight " Dad said.

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They had had their meal and Kate was going back to their table from the' _ladies_ '. when she saw the girl from the Tate, threading her way through the tables. It jerked her thoughts back to the conundrum that had niggled her throughout the day.

Who had been the model for ' _David_ '?

They had no close relations.

She didn't believe in co-incidences or Doppelgangers.

So, it had to be one of the triplets.

So which one?

The one to come to mind first would be Michael. He would do something like that but he is such an extrovert they would have heard all about it for months before now. And the publicity! For an actor, any publicity is good publicity. So… not Michael.

Then... Peter! The boys are very tight mouthed about their love lives, but things had dribbled back to her through Security that Peter was quite a lad for the girls. Hmm! Even so, _he_ wouldn't do this. He liked to keep everything quiet.

So, Rupert. Her sweet, quiet, serious, appallingly shy firstborn. No, she could not see Rupert...she didn't think that he'd even had a girlfriend … no, no, No!

Hmmm.

"Lady Charlbury." someone said.

"Oh! Hello Toby." she said. She wasn't really paying attention to him. She was trying to see where the painter girl had gone.

"Yes, yes. " She agreed with what Toby was saying without really hearing what he said.

"Are you celebrating something Toby, or just a night out?" She craned her neck, searching.

"...My sister winning the prize.… My parents … " He drew a deep breath as if he was uneasy about something. She realised suddenly she was being appallingly rude to this rather nice young man.

"I'm sorry, I missed that. Did you say your sister has won a prize?"

"Yes, I thought you knew. Tania? The Turner prize? " He was definitely embarrassed now. "She said she met you this morning." He jerked his head. "She's talking to the triplets."

Someone called him.

"Will you excuse me?" He was obviously glad to escape.

Her attention now focused on their table.

"Hmm ? Yes. Yes, of course. Before you go Toby, where did your sister study?"

"The Slade, but she won a bursary; she has just finished two years in Florence."

"Mmhmm. Bye, Toby. Nice to see you."

The triplets were sat together. The girl, between Rupert and Michael, half kneeling on Rupert's chair was leaning towards Peter and Michael. They couldn't take their eyes off her, flamboyantly lovely in white and gold. Or was it her _decolletage_ that stunned them?

Rupert was turned indifferently away.

Kate threaded her way towards them to her seat. The girl was turned away talking to the others but her arm was resting lightly on Rupert's shoulder. Her fingers twisting the curl at the nape of his neck, sliding around to touch his ear.

He took his left hand off the table and let it slip down between them. Kate saw him take hold of her ankle, caressing it gently.

His heavy gold chain bracelet slid down his hand, its tiny gold key resting against her foot. Funny! He was the last one she would have expected to wear a bracelet. How long had he had that now? Two years or so? Her glance swung back sharply. The girl was wearing an ankle chain fastened with a little padlock.

Suddenly it was all as clear as if a spotlight shone.

 _" No, Dad I did not pose for that!"_

And the girl, her little smile as she said _"I did it from memory."_

And Florence! How many times did he clear off to Italy? Sometimes only for two or three days.

" _Perhaps I'll slip over to Milan_ _for a couple of days._ S _ee Zia Claudia and Zio Attilio.'_

Milan is only three hours drive from Florence.

The little sod!

But she was smiling inside.

She sat beside Piers and waited.

He slid into the seat on her other side. "Mum, I think I'll slip off now. This isn't my thing."

"No...O.K." She lifted her hand to his face. " 'night, lovey."

She pushed her chair back and stretched her neck to watch her son make his way through the foyer to the glass canopy outside and lift his hand to hail a cab. Piers nudged her and jerked his head across the table where their other sons were flirting outrageously with the girl.

'That's her! The girl from the Tate." she murmured behind her hand. What was her name? Tania! Yes, that's right. "Tania"

'God! She's a sexy little piece." he muttered back.

Tania straightened. "Sorry, boys. I must go."

"You got a Hot Date, Tan? "

"Yes! As a matter of fact I have."

As she came towards them amid the boys' laughing cheers, she flashed such a dazzling smile at Piers that his eyes widened in stunned surprise..

"Happy anniversary, Lady Charlbury, Lord Charlbury. Hope you have had a lovely day."

Kate watched her as she half -ran, half-danced through the foyer outside to the glass canopy where Rupert was waiting for her.

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 **Tate Britain.** The art gallery est.1897, housing a substantial collection of the works of JMWTurner and presenting yearly the Turner prize, a sum of £40,000. However this is not a prize for students as I have implied.

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 **The Slade.** The Slade School of Fine Art. One of London's oldest and most prestigious art schools.

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End file.
